The Green Room
by ariades
Summary: Despite the differences in their reasons, they always end up here.


Title: The Green Room

Description: Based on a possible outcome of the Sully/Brennan relationship and the ramifications. B/B pairing - two complex characters, falling together.

Ratings/Spoilers: No spoilers, just random drabble. M rating.

Disclaimer: Never have been and never will be mine.

Author's Note: 'The awfulness of love and violets' Written on a particularly warm day - random thoughts on a possible way for B/B to be - not a pleasant way though. Inspired by the dialogue about two people 'falling together' (second season episode, can't remember the name) as well as Damien Rice song (seems to be a theme). Either way, I hope you enjoy it. Please review - let me know if you love/hate it and how I can improve.

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It had come down to this:

Sitting, too crowded in a too small booth, his knees hitting the top of the table and his hand destroying the carefully styled hair as friends offered advice and congratulations.

He plastered a smile on his face, drank too much, stayed too long; he was the only one who knew that _that_ was exactly what she wanted him to do.

Two hours later:

Finally alone or just too drunk to care?

Stumbling towards the waiting taxi he touched her like a lover as he ushered her into the back seat.

Hot hands and a greedy mouth keep her silent as he slips the cabbie a series of bills and leads her to the entrance of her building. Her back hits the glass doors with a loud thud, amplified when he crashes into her; deftly removing her door keys from her front, right pocket while coping a feel that draws a moan from deep inside of her.

Stumbling backwards towards the elevator, the doorman raises a paternal eyebrow as he opens the door for the blurry couple. She tries to form an explanation, compelled to explain her behavior to the fatherly old man, but a discreetly wandering hand causes her to bite her lip; the doors close without the utterance of a single word. Two floors and twenty seconds later they're at her front door; he lets out a growl when the lock refuses to comply and she cups him through his pants.

They're inside in seconds and he throws her against the wall, "We shouldn't be doing this." She draws lazily, more of a pleasantry than a protest, as he spreads her legs with a nudging knee.

"Look me in the eyes," He commands, slowly pressing himself to her, she gasps, eyes widening at the sheer vulgarity of his actions, at how her body responds to his, at how perfectly he fits against her, "Tell me that you don't want this - tell me and mean it." He says in heady gasps as she rocks against him, her breathing shallow as her head lolls back and hits the wall. For all her degrees and defenses, she's speechless.

He's kissing her neck, working his way to her earlobe where he whispers, hot breath against her neck, "Tell me to stop, give me all the reasons why this is a mistake, why this can never happen."

"This is wrong." She replies, he pulls back to look into her impossibly blue eyes. Her right hand finds his tie and pulls once, hard, bringing his mouth inches from hers. She's breathing in his air and licking her lips, he nods in agreement but continues; he thought she'd meant it the first time, but this hardly was their first slip. Her tongue is burning a trail down his neck and he hisses a curse as she bites into his shoulder, briefly wondering if she's this rough sober.

While her shirt is pulled over her head, he makes out a muffled, "someone else's girl..." paired with a slurred version of his former friends' last name. The dull sirens sounding in his alcohol addled brain are overpowered by her stifled moans and the rustling of fabric as it slides off and falls to the floor, disgraced.

He used to be a good man.

His suit jacket hits the floor with a muted sigh, uneasy hands fumble with foreign buttons, rushing towards the inevitable. A trail of clothing traces a progression towards her bedroom; a green room filled with pictures and promises for another man.

She doesn't believe in true love so she brushes off her feelings for him too easily.

She rationalizes: he's an alpha-male, a loner - these encounters suit him to a tee.

She doubts mans ability to rise above base animal instincts; monogamy akin to a modern day fairy tale.

He thinks that, eventually, she'll come around.

He'll greedily take whatever she'll give him (she keeps him on starvation rations).

He doesn't know how to let her go or how to say no.

Despite the differences in their reasons, they always end up here.

He pushes her roughly to the bed, crawling over her like a predator; darkened eyes and sleek features. She pulls him forward, linking ankles behind his back and whispers into his ear, "He asked me to marry him."

As he strains forward, drawling a deep moan from her, he dips his tongue along the side of her ear and growls.

"Cheers, darlin."

He isn't sure if he loves her or hates her, but the distinction ceased to matter long ago.


End file.
